With blood, and each sate sullenly apart, Of famine fed upon all entrails. Men Died, and their bones were tombless as their flesh. The birds, and beasts, and famished men at bay, And a quick desolate cry, licking the hand, -he died. The crowd was famished by degrees; but two Of an enormous city did survive, And they were enemies. They met beside The dying embers of an altar-place, Where had been heaped a mass of holy things For an unholy usage; they raked up, And shivering scraped with their cold skeleton hands up Each other's aspects-saw, and shrieked, and died— grave, And their masts fell down piecemeal-as they dropped LORD WILLIAM. No eye beheld when William plunged Submissive all the vassals own'd The ancient house of Erlingford And often the wayfaring man But never could Lord William dare In every wind that swept its waves, He heard young Edmund scream. In vain, by restless conscience driven, Lord William left his home, Far from the scenes that saw his guilt, To other climes the pilgrim fled— He sought his home again-but peace Slow were the passing hours; yet swift A day that William never felt A fearful day was that! the rains And the swoln tide of Severn spread In vain Lord William sought the feast, The tempest, as its sudden swell With cold and death-like feelings seem'd Reluctant now, as night came on, Beside that couch his brother's form, Such, and so pale his face, as when "I bade thee with a father's love My orphan Edmund guard,— Well, William, hast thou kept thy charge! Now take thy due reward!" He started up, each limb convulsed With agonising fear : He only heard the storm of night,— When, lo! the voice of loud alarm "What, ho! Lord William, rise in haste! The water saps thy walls!" He rose in haste: beneath the walls It hemm'd him round: 'twas midnight now, He heard the shout of joy, for now "My boat is small," the boatman cried, Strange feeling filled them at his voice, That, save their Lord, there was not one Who wish'd with him to go. But William leapt into the boat, His terror was so sore; "Thou shalt have half my gold!" he cried, "Haste !-haste to yonder shore!" The boatman plied the oar, the boat The boatman paused: "Methought I heard ""Twas but the howling wind of night," Lord William made reply; "Haste!-haste!-ply swift and strong the oar! Haste!-haste across the stream!" Again Lord William heard a cry "I heard a child's distressful voice," "Nay, hasten on !—the night is darkAnd we should search in vain!" "And, oh! Lord William, dost thou know "How horrible it is to sink To stretch the powerless arms in vain, The shriek again was heard: it came And near them they beheld a child, A little crag, and all around Was spread the rising flood. The boatman plied the oar, the boat And show'd how pale his face. "Now reach thine hand!" the boatman cried, "Lord William, reach and save! The child stretch'd forth his little hands Then William shriek'd; the hand he touch'd Was cold and damp and dead! He felt young Edmund in his arms! A heavier weight than lead! |